


Stress Lines

by Aylwyyn228



Series: All our broken pieces [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), M/M, Mental Health Issues, Poor coping mechanisms for everyone, Protective Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-08-20 10:09:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16553801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aylwyyn228/pseuds/Aylwyyn228
Summary: “You know we can call T’Challa?”“What’s a king gonna want with a coupla dumb fucks like us?”When something is wrong with Bucky's arm, he deals with it the way he deals with everything. He ignores it, until he can't anymore.And by that point, there's only one person left to call.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I was feeling a little shitty, so I resurrected this thing. I started it after Civil War so it pretty much ignores Infinity War. 
> 
> The working title was the 'Saddest Fix-It Eva!'
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. I swear Stardust will be the next thing I work on. It's not abandoned. The entire thing is plotted and drafted.

 

It'd been a shitty day. Steve'd spent two hours in meetings with bureaucrats and politicians explaining the same damn thing over and over again. 

He supposed he should be grateful that Tony had, grudgingly, agreed to sort out the crisis that they'd got themselves into. 

He accepted it wasn't Tony's fault. Mostly. And he hadn't exactly been a shining example of good judgement calls.

Be he'd had to grovel embarrassingly in order to be accepted into the fold. And the obvious pleasure the various agencies had got over watching him cowed had not yet dissipated. 

He'd almost told Tony to go fuck himself. It went against ever fibre of his being to back down, even for a second, even for the greater good. 

It was Bucky in the end who convinced him it was worth it. 

Bucky had always been the only one who could. He'd always known exactly what to say, to defuse arguments in bars and in the street with a quiet word and a lopsided grin, to reign in Steve's temper.

So when he'd argued that Steve's public apology was necessary to get Sam and Wanda and all the others off the hook too, Steve had found it hard to disagree. 

What he'd said had made sense. About it being the right thing. About how he wasn't doing any good being stuck in exile. About how Steve'd always put his friends above his own pride. 

That last one felt like wishful thinking on Bucky's part. He knew all about his pride. He knew that recognising it in Tony was part of what had set them against each other. 

But Bucky had always made him want to be a better person. 

In the end though, it was the look on Bucky's face, as he'd sat resting his chin on his knees in the sinking Wakandan sun. 

He was tired. 

Steve'd seen that look enough in Europe. Soldiers that had been fighting for too long. It'd been far too long, and Bucky didn't want to run anymore.

He wanted to go home, whatever was waiting for him there. 

So Steve gave in, and it'd worked out, mostly. 

Steve was almost certain that it was largely down to Tony that the price of the return had fallen almost entirely on him, that the others had been left out of it. That there had been no recriminations against Bucky, that he had been pardoned without any legal process. 

Tony hadn't mentioned it. He would never mention it. But Steve was self-aware enough to recognise that that was where they truly differed. 

Tony was happy to be the bad guy. To be the philanderer and the drunk, who made up for it by throwing money at problems. He revelled in his carelessness.

But when he did something good, something truly altruistic, he didn't want anyone to know. It was easier if he had nothing to live up to. If people expected nothing from him then he could never disappoint them.

The realisation didn't make him easier to get along with. They were probably too similar and too different all at once. They'd only ever be at each other's throats, even if they were always friends.

The olive branch had been offered and accepted though, so Steve would have to put up with the grovelling and the debriefings, at least until some crisis happened which put him back in the government's good books. 

It didn't make it easier to deal with though. To keep his temper. 

So he had been looking forward to a quiet evening in with Bucky.

Until Hill had sprung a press conference on him. Something stupid Clint had said offhand to a journalist. Apparently, Steve was the only one available to firefight.

He opened the door to their apartment, and immediately shouted a greeting to Bucky, before heading straight for the bedroom to try and find a clean shirt.

He could hear Bucky in the kitchen.

“Don’t make anythin for me, I gotta go straight out again.”

“Hmmm?”

“Yeah, another stupid press thing. I don’t know why they can’t get Clint to clean up his own fuckin-“

“Goddamn it!”

The swearing was followed by the crackle of something smashing.

“Y’alright?”

“Yeah. Fuck.”

By the time he wandered through to the kitchen, Bucky was scraping a pile of broken plates off the counter into the bin. It didn’t take a genius to work it out.

Steve picked a couple of stray shards off the floor and joined him. “It happen again?”

“Mmmm,” Bucky leaned back against the counter, absently flexing metal fingers, “I can’t… I dunno.”

The random spasms were getting worse. Steve had seen it a couple of times, twitches that meant Bucky dropped or crushed whatever he was holding.

“It’s not your fault.”

Bucky grimaced. “Don’t change the fact that we don’t have any plates anymore. Or glasses. Sorry.”

Steve winced, the instinctive reaction against waste, but it didn’t matter, not anymore.

Bucky didn’t leave him time to answer. “I’m not doin it on purpose.”

The look on his face was practically daring Steve to disagree. That was a sign that he was gonna have to tread real carefully for the rest of this conversation. The chances of it ending with slammed doors or Bucky locking himself in the bathroom had just escalated rapidly.

“I know that.”

“It’s not me.”

“I know.”

Bucky turned so he was facing him properly. “I know what you’re gonna say.”

Steve kept his face carefully neutral. Not that it was gonna help much if Bucky decided to conduct both sides of this argument.

Bucky folded his arms. “You think I oughta do something about it.”

That would be the sensible thing to do but no way in Hell was he gonna say it.

Steve shrugged. “If you think you need to.”

“Of course, I fucking need to.” Bucky was suddenly up in his face, pressing him back into the counter. It took every bit of Steve’s willpower not to shove him away. “I can’t keep breaking shit all over the apartment!”

He turned his face away. A conscious submission. No threat here. “Bucky, please.”

Bucky’s face cleared instantly. He stepped back and gave a shaky sigh. “Sorry. Shit.”

“It’s alright.”

Steve reached out to touch his arm, but Bucky skirted away from his hand.

The thing was Steve knew absolutely that Bucky would never hit him, not now he was Bucky again, but he wasn’t certain Bucky knew that.

It’d always been the same. Steve remembered the blazing rows they’d used to get into. Well, Steve got into. Bucky rarely argued back, he always just walked away. Steve blocking the door and shouting that he was a coward cos he knew Steve wouldn’t continue this out into the street.

Steve went looking for him after one particularly vitriolic row, found him smoking on the top of the fire escape. He could still see the look on Bucky’s face, the same haunted one he had now, as he took a drag from his Luckie.

“I don’t know how you do it, Stevie,” he’d said. “You’re the only one…” He’d crushed the stub under his shoe. “Sometimes you get me so riled up, I’m scared I’m gonna take a swing at you.”

Steve’s first thought had been to snap that if he felt like that he’d better take his best shot. Then he’d realised that not only was that a terrible idea, he was perilously close to saying something he’d never be able to take back.

And which Bucky would never, ever forgive him for.

So he’d just offered Bucky his hand, and he’d never tried to stop him walking out of the apartment again.

Steve looked at Bucky now, his back to Steve, all curled in on himself.

He knew Bucky thought his temper now was more proof, that he was unworthy, or to blame, or whatever terrible thoughts were going round his head.

But Steve knew.

It just made him human.

“Buck,” Steve closed the distance between them, wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist and pressed his nose into the back of his hair. Kissed his neck. “Come on, which one of these shirts is less scuzzy?”

Steve left Bucky’s warmth and scooped up the shirts he’d balled up and left on the table. Let Bucky press them to his face. Bucky looked for a second like he was considering, then he surged forward, pressed his nose into the front of the button-down Steve was wearing.

“Buck!”

“Reckon its just you that’s scuzzy.”

“Get off, jerk!” His shirt was definitely becoming less fastened. “Bucky!”

Bucky was just grinning. “Reckon you need a shower.”

“I’m gonna miss the conference.”

Bucky was nosing at his throat. “That’s the idea, pal.”

Bucky was a real persuasive bastard.

***

They were curled up on opposite sides of the sofa when Steve noticed that Bucky was shifting stiffly again. Steve had been reading, trying to ignore the silence. It’d been two days since Bucky had fallen into some kind of pit inside himself. Become clipped and moody and agitated.

He had a Hell of a presence in a room when he was like that. It was stifling.

Steve dropped his book onto the table behind him. He wasn’t enjoying it much anyway. It was one of Nat’s recommendations. He preferred something a bit lighter.

He turned back to Bucky. “Is it bothering you again?”

Bucky nodded mutely, not even looking Steve’s way.

Steve just studied his face, taking in the tight lines across his forehead.

“Come here?”

He opened his arms and waited, for Bucky to assess, to make his mind up. Finally, Bucky moved, settling himself between Steve’s legs, a warm weight across his chest. Steve manoeuvred himself into a position where he could knead at Bucky’s shoulder. Rough skin next to metal.

When he’d first seen them, Steve had wanted to know what caused the scars. Bucky had informed him in no uncertain terms that he didn’t.

Steve hadn’t asked again.

As he worked his way along, pressing into the faint white lines which must represent where his shoulder blade and collarbone had been reinforced, Bucky shuddered.

“That alright?”

“Mmmm.”

Bucky pressed back into him, so Steve carried on.

“Is it gettin worse?”

Bucky didn’t answer for a moment, then he shrugged loosely. “Maybe.”

Steve pressed a kiss to one of the scars. “You know we can call T’Challa?”

“What’s a king gonna want with a coupla dumb fucks like us?” Bucky relaxed into him. “I don’t wanna fly half way across the world again. We only just… I’m tired, Stevie.”

“I know.”

Everything about Bucky exuded fatigue. Exhaustion.

He looked old. Not in his face, he was as beautiful as he’d ever been, but something in his eyes. Something that said he’d seen it all, and he was done.

Steve wondered if he had that same look, when he’d woken up seventy years later and everyone seemed to have conveniently forgotten that he was twenty fucking six years old, and he’d lost everything.

Steve settled back and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s chest, forced the bitterness away. Because it wasn’t true.

Not anymore.

“I’m thinkin of tryin that coffee place tomorrow, Sam’s favourite.”

Bucky made a non-committal noise and Steve jostled him a little. “Come with me? We could walk through the park, down by the river.”

Steve held his breath. He knew what the answer would be before he asked but he had to keep trying.

He felt Bucky sigh, a deep rise and fall of his chest, entirely silent. “Maybe.”

Steve felt his heart twist. “I can get something to go. Bring it back.”

“Mmmm.” Bucky twisted on his chest, so he could look Steve in the face. “I’m alright, you know? I’m just real tired.”

Steve remembered this from before.

_‘I’m just tired, Stevie. S’all. We’ll go dancing next week, I swear.’_

Endless silent days in the tenement, as Bucky ate and slept and looked like he didn’t want to be doing either. Then weeks of manic evenings. Dancing and girls and reefer. Bucky puking his guts up into the floorboards at three in the morning, while Steve rubbed at his back.

Steve had been entirely out of his depth. He hadn’t dared seek any help because of what it might mean for Bucky, and because of what any scrutiny of their lifestyle might bring down on the both of them. He just had to wait out the seemingly random cycles of Bucky’s mood.

It was so much worse after Azzano.

And now…

At least he had a word for it now.

Bucky was scanning his face. He leaned up to kiss Steve, and Steve let him. He’d always take whatever Bucky was willing to give him.

Bucky eventually broke away and resumed his position, back against Steve’s chest. “Put some music on?”

Steve reached behind him for his phone to find the app for the music site that Tony had set up on his computer. That seemed like a whole other lifetime, a weird interlude, bookended by days like this, curled up with Bucky on a Sunday afternoon.

“What do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

Steve scrolled through the artists he’d saved until he found something.

He dropped the phone beside him and wrapped himself around Bucky again.

Bucky hummed a little.

“’S nice.” He let his head drop back onto Steve’s shoulder. “Who is it?”

Steve glanced at his phone. “Fleetwood Mac.”

“Huh. Is it modern?”

“I got no idea, Buck.” He could see the curve of Bucky’s smile. “Oh, ha ha. Yeah, laugh it up. Ya know I never knew anythin about music.”

“You’ve had longer than me to catch up.” Bucky turned his face, so Steve could definitely see the joke in his eyes. “Supposed to be my guide through this strange and confusin future.”

“I don’t think you really needed any help there, pal.”

Bucky smiled again.  It was soft and warm, edging on sad, the way it always did now. It highlighted the lines around his eyes.

“You know how lucky I am?”

The smile slid off Bucky’s face. He turned away. “I reckon most people would say you got the shitty end of about fifteen different sticks.”

Steve’s heart twisted. He kissed the top of Bucky’s head. “They’re wrong.”

Steve was the luckiest goddamn punk on earth, and every little bit of his luck had come at Bucky’s expense.

Even finding someone like Bucky in the first place, to put up with some scraggly kid with a bad attitude who couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. That was all his good luck.

But afterwards, if Bucky had never been drafted, he’d’ve never been at the Stark Expo. If Bucky’d never been captured, he woulda been touring with USO through the whole war. If Bucky had never ‘died’, he would never have crashed that plane, and he’d be long dead now.

And if Hydra had never found Bucky, then he wouldn’t be here, with Steve again.

And it awakened a great guilty hole in Steve’s chest, but he couldn’t help but be grateful that Bucky was…

He’d atone for that gratitude the rest of his goddamn life if he had to.

As long as Bucky was with him.

Bucky had gone quiet, past arguing with him about stuff he didn’t believe. He was breathing slow and heavy, and Steve let himself drift too.

With the sunlight warm against their feet, Steve was happy to spend the afternoon dozing here.

Bucky made a noise. “I know this song.”

Steve hadn’t been paying attention, he’d let the app just run on, suggesting similar artists. He listened for a second, but he was almost certain he’d never heard it before.

“You hear it on the radio?”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t… It musta been…” He went suddenly stiff. “Turn it off.”

“Off?” It took his brain a second to catch up, then he scrabbled for his phone. Trying not to pitch Bucky straight onto the floor.

“Yeah,” Bucky laughed, a shaky fragile thing, “this’s stupid. Them that ya had on before. I liked them.”

“Fleetwood Mac?”

“Mmmm.”

Steve flicked through the tracks, picked one at random because he didn’t recognise any of the titles. “This?”

Bucky breathed, settled his head back. “Yeah, this’s good.”

Steve left the app playing album tracks since this seemed safe.

He reached down to cover Bucky’s hand and Bucky squeezed back. He didn’t relax an inch for the rest of the afternoon.

***

For a second, Steve wasn’t sure what woke him. It was still the middle of the night, the glow of the city illuminating the room in a warm orange.

It was utterly silent.

That was when he realised he couldn’t even hear Bucky breathing.

He looked over.

Bucky was absolutely still, staring at the ceiling. The muscle in his jaw was taught.

“Buck? You ok?”

Bucky didn’t look over, just gave the barest shake of his head.

Steve’s panic skyrocketed. He sprang up, kneeling on the bed, hands hovering over Bucky. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

Bucky just shook his head again.

Steve was floundering. He didn’t know what to do. When he’d first seen him, he’d thought Bucky was trapped somewhere in his own head. It happened sometimes. Bucky just suddenly wouldn’t be there anymore. 

It was unpleasant but not too concerning. Bucky always came back, and he said he didn’t remember anything about it, so it was just something they dealt with.

But this… this was something different.

Bucky was sick. Something was wrong… And he didn’t…

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice was wavering beyond his control. “Should I call a doctor?”

Bucky frowned at him, and there was something eloquently sarcastic in it that at least calmed Steve slightly. It said ‘when would I ever want you to get a doctor, punk?’, and the breathy laugh burst its way out of Steve.

“Sam, then? Shall I call him?”

Bucky swallowed tightly. “No. ‘M alrigh. Just hurts.”

“What? What hurts? Why didn’t you wake me up?” Steve dropped his hand onto the metal of Bucky’s wrist, and he instantly stiffened. “Your arm?”

Bucky nodded tightly.

“What’s wrong with it? Why didn’t you say something?”

Bucky let out a tight laugh. “Quit havin a heart attack. I’m ok. Just aches, is all.”

From the expression on his face, Steve was almost certain that it more than ‘ached’. There was a fury burning up in him, because Bucky was just goin to lay there suffering and let him sleep. How many times had he had to do that? How many times had he been forced into silence while he was in agony? So often that it became second nature.

Steve pushed all of that to one side.

“What can I do?”

Bucky lifted his right hand. “Just come here.”

Steve scooted around to his other side and let him lean against him. His skin was fever hot.

“It’s getting worse,” Bucky said into his chest.

Steve dropped his chin into Bucky’s hair. “I know. We’ll fix it.” Steve kissed his forehead. “I promise.”

***

“I’m sorry, Tony. I don’t know what else to do.”

Steve was stood in the kitchen doorway, phone clutched to his ear, watching Bucky curled up on the couch. His face was ashy pale, eyes screwed up closed. He’d thrown up three times that morning. Steve was beginning to worry that it wasn’t just his arm, but Bucky was adamant.

It just hurt too much.

The fact that Bucky hadn’t protested in the slightest at him calling Tony was testament to that fact.

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. “What? None of your new friends are keen to help? I hear Wakanda’s lovely this time of year.”

Steve turned away from the doorway and lowered his voice. “He can’t fly, Tony. He can barely walk. I don’t…”

Steve trailed off into another long silence.

“Alright.”

Steve wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Alright?”

“Get Terminator down here.”

“That’s it?”

He heard Tony’s sigh. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a total asshole. You know where I am.”

The line clicked off.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Thank god they’d managed to get a taxi. The bike was not an option.

The hackie had given them a look, scanning over Bucky as he sagged over Steve’s arm, but he’d eventually decided that neither of them looked like they were going to pass out or throw up all over his backseat.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asked, as they neared Manhattan.

He was holding himself taut, his right hand fisted into the fabric of his jeans, but other than that he gave no sign there was anything wrong. Steve wondered whether it was habit, or a long learnt coping mechanism.

“I’m not seeing another option, Buck.” Steve leaned across, squeezed his knee, after noting that the hackie’s eyes were firmly on the road. “I’ll be there. You know I won’t let anything happen.”

Bucky angled his head away. “’S not what I was talking about.”

“Then wha-?”

“We’re nearly there.” Bucky brushed his hand away.

“But-“

Bucky shook his head stiffly, and that was the end of the conversation.

As they walked into Stark Tower, they were directed wordlessly to the elevator, where Vision was waiting as soon as they reached the right floor.

“Captain,” Vision inclined his head, before taking in Bucky at his side. “Sergeant Barnes.”

Steve felt Bucky stifle a full body shiver at his side.

“Bucky,” he said sharply, “wouldn’t’ve ever been a sergeant if I’d had any say in it.”

Steve glanced at him sideways, wondering if it was true, or if it was just how Bucky remembered it. He’d always assumed Bucky had enlisted, but he was self-aware enough to know that he’d been twenty-four, and almost entirely caught up with himself.

He guessed there were some things he’d never know.

“Of course,” Vision said, levelly. “I’m to escort you to the workroom.”

Steve felt a prickle of irritation. “Tony sent you steada comin himself?”

“Steve,” Bucky said tightly.

“You misunderstand me. I volunteered.”

“Why?”

“Steve,” Bucky brushed his elbow, “let’s just get this done, alright?”

Steve heard the silent, tagged on ‘darlin’, for his benefit only.

He took a deep breath and willed the anxious hand that’d gripped his heart to ease up a little.

They followed Vision in silence. The workroom wasn’t one that Steve recognised, but the tower was a maze, and Tony could well have remodelled everything in the meantime.

There were computer stations around the side of the room, if you could call Tony’s holograms computers.

Steve had no idea.

Other than that, the room was clear save for a table in the centre, covered over in a white sheet and with a threadbare cushion thrown on one end.

There was no way this was Tony’s main workroom. He’d seen where Tony worked and the phrase ‘organised chaos’ didn’t even begin to cover it.

The kind explanation was that Tony wanted to work in a sterilised area. The more likely one was that he didn’t want their presence tainting his space.

Steve felt strangely bereft at that.

Bucky had stilled at Steve’s side, but suddenly as if he had noticed Steve’s attention, he stalked into the room, all cocky swagger, like he hadn’t been curled up over the toilet shivering as he threw up just a couple of hours ago.  

He hitched himself up onto the table as Steve made his way to his side.

“I’ve been instructed to administer an IV.”

Steve snapped around. “No. What is it?”

Vision stepped closer. “An analgesic, and a sedative. Think of it as a mixture of morphine and barbiturate. It was developed for you, Captain.”

Steve scowled. “Case you had to take me down?”

Vision cocked his head. “In case you were injured.”

Steve swallowed. Hard. “No.”

“Steve-“

“No,” he turned back to Bucky, looking earnestly up at him, “they’re not just giving you some experimental drug.”

“I assure you, it has been thoroughly tested.”

“No.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s tone was like an ice shower. He looked away from Steve to focus on Vision. “You’re a robot, right? You can’t lie?”

A faint smile flickered across Vision’s face. “I understand what you’re referring to, however, as I was not created entirely by mankind, such rules do not apply to me. I give you my word though, that I am not lying to you.”

Bucky held his gaze for a second. “Ok.”

“Wait, what?” Steve’s hand dropped onto Bucky’s shoulder without the say so of his brain.

Bucky looked at him like he was the stupidest punk in the world. “Astounding Stories of Super-Science, Stevie!”

Steve just looked at him blankly.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You were always a philistine.”

Vision stepped forward again.

“Hang on a second.”

Bucky groaned and slumped back onto the table. “Let me take the goddamn goofballs, Steve!”

It was meant to be a joke, but Steve could hear the truth behind it. Bucky was hurting, he wanted to blur the edges for a while.

As if he’d seen Steve’s position weakening, Vision moved forward again, with his IV. “It is not an anaesthetic. You may, however, feel drowsy.”

“Sure thing,” Bucky said absently, as he flexed his fist to make the veins more visible.

“You should alert someone if you feel any discomfort or distress.”

Bucky flashed a thumbs up with his flesh hand, without lifting it from the table.

Then he closed his eyes.

Steve watched as the IV slowly emptied into his veins. Vision quietly tidied up, leaving the rest of the bottles of painkillers on the side. He gave a nod to Steve, and left the room.

Bucky’s breathing slowed gradually, and without even realising it, Steve started kneading at his shoulder in time with it.

“Buck?”

Bucky blinked, focussed, and then gave him the brightest, dopiest grin Steve’d ever seen. It was a look Steve hadn’t seen since long before the war, and it made his heart catch in his chest.

Bucky, drunk and beautiful, wanting and warm.

Steve could sink right into him.

Seventy years ago, he would have.

His heart ached.

Steve shot him a tight smile. “Not here.”

Even drugged to the eyeballs, Bucky schooled his expression instantly. Habit long drilled into the both of them.

Steve was still stroking at his shoulder. “Hey, you feelin alright?”

Bucky took a blink that was a beat too long. “Huh.”

Steve felt himself smile. “Buck?”

“Yeah,” Bucky was looking at him like he was stood _really_ far away, “when’d you get here?”

“I’ve been here all this time.”

“Huh,” Bucky said again. “I fall asleep?”

“Maybe.”

Bucky sprawled back against the table, broke into a wide grin. “I’m drunk as hell.”

Steve smiled again. “Think you might be.”

“Shi-shikkered.” Bucky stumbled over the word and then laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

“Ok, buddy.”

“Steve?” Bucky was looking at him with the biggest, widest eyes. “Wha’ we doin?”

Steve patted at his shoulder again. “Getting your arm sorted out, pal.”

Bucky lolled over to stare at his left side. He blinked once. Twice.

“Oh,” he said with blank indifference, and then collapsed back onto the table.

Steve laughed, but he could hear footsteps outside the door. Knew what that meant. “You be ok if I pop out for a second?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sounded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Can handle m’self, Stevie.”

Didn’t Steve know it.

He headed towards the door, towards the conversation he really, really didn’t want to have.

Tony was in the corridor, and though Steve knew he’d deny it forever, he looked like he was trying to psych himself up to go in. He looked a little like a spooked cat when he heard the door open.

“Tony-“

“Stop.” Tony held up his hand. “Don’t need any apologies. And I don’t need any thanks. Lets just get this done.”

Tony looked bad. Clothes crumpled up like he’d worn them for several days. Beard that was less ‘stylishly careless’ and more ‘sleeping rough’.

Steve caught his elbow as he tried to push past him. “I’m not gonna apologise-“

Tony cut him off with a harsh laugh. “Yeah, you made that very clear.”

Steve felt familiar anger well up again. “It was wrong, Tony.”

“Every bad guy I ever met started out thinking he was doing the right thing.” Tony wrenched his arm out of Steve’s grasp and shrugged. “Why are you even bringing it up? It’s over. It’s done. You won.”

Steve started to answer, but Tony had already disappeared through the door.

***

Tony barely even glanced over towards where Bucky was laid on the table, right arm flung across his face, heading straight over to drag open a couple of drawers on the far side of the room.

Steve stepped over to Bucky’s side, brushed down his arm. “I’m back.”

Bucky dropped his arm with far more force than necessary, broke into that big dazed grin again. “Stevie, when’d ya get here?”

“Came with you, bud.”

Bucky frowned hard, and then grinned again. “I’m drunk.”

“You sure are.”

Bucky looked so pretty that all Steve wanted was to kiss him. All his edges had been blurred away. He looked so, so young.

“S a good night though?” He frowned, comically expressive. “I don’t remember.” He looked around like he’d never seen the room before. “Where are we?”

“Getting your arm fixed up.”

“I get hurt, Stevie?” Bucky lifted his left hand, flexed it, though the matte black reflected little light. Bucky laughed. “Wow, that hurts real bad, Stevie.”

Steve stiffened. “It hurts?”

Bucky nodded, but he was still laughing.

“The horse tranqs worked then?”

Tony dragged a trolley of tools over to them and then grabbed a stool.

“He said it still hurts.”

Tony shrugged, very deliberately not meeting his eyes. “He seems chipper enough. Up his dose if you like, but I’ve got no clue what the safe level of Milk Plus is for a cyborg.”

“What?” Steve said, half in irritation and half in confusion.

“What I said.” Tony was frowning over his tools. “I’m not a doctor. If it runs on electricity then I’m good…”

Steve was clenching his teeth so hard that he briefly wondered if it was possible from him to break his own jaw. “And you couldn’t look it up?”

Tony finally looked at him, gestured between them with a wrench. “Sorry, who’s doing who a favour here?”

He threw the wrench down, said under his breath “Damn sure I wasn’t your first choice.”

Steve couldn’t be sure if he was meant to hear that, but Tony didn’t let him answer. He clicked his fingers over where Bucky had apparently slipped back into a state of semi-consciousness.

He was humming something. Some tune that Steve half remembered, sung at the window scrubbing out chipped bits of china.

“Hey, Red Scare!”

Steve bit down on his tongue as Bucky flickered awake, taking a couple of beats to focus. He snapped into that smile again.

“Heya, Howard!”

There was a moment of tense silence. Tony’s face had gone utterly blank, and that freaked Steve out more than any amount of hostility. He squeezed Bucky’s shoulder.

“Tony, Buck. This is Tony, not Howard.”

Bucky swivelled round to face Steve. “Tony Benedetti? Offa Warren Street?”

He looked back at Tony, with an expression that called absolute bullshit on that.

“No. My… friend, Tony.”

“Ah, right…” Bucky instantly relaxed, like anyone who was Steve’s friend was good enough for him. Required a full on charm offensive and a leading man grin. He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet ya.”

For a second, Steve didn’t know how this was gonna go. But he oughta have known, no one in the history of the world had been able to resist Bucky Barnes when he was in a good mood.

Tony took his hand without a word. The tightening of his jaw the only thing giving him away.  

Bucky frowned, squinting up at him. “Anyone ever told you you’re the spit of Howard Stark?”

Tony pulled his hand back. “Somebody might’ve mentioned it. Once or twice. Lay back.”

Bucky threw his head back onto the table so hard that Steve winced.

Tony pulled out something that looked like the world’s fanciest screwdriver. “Look, I’m not going to stop every five minutes to ask if you’re ok. Compassion and concern are not some of my top qualities at the best of times. So unless you start screaming in agony, I’m gonna assume we’re good, ok?”

“Sure thing, bud,” Bucky said, with the expression of someone who had no idea what he’d just agreed to but was amiable enough to go along with it.

Tony shot Steve a look that said ‘I’m passing all responsibility for this onto you’.

When was that not true?

Tony let out a deep sigh. “Ok, look away, or deep breaths, or whatever they teach you at Assassin High.”

Steve was pretty sure he was going to bite right through his tongue before the end of this.

Bucky was just watching absently as Tony leaned down, and if Steve could be grateful for one thing about this situation, it was that Bucky was so out of it the awkward tension in the room appeared to be passing him by entirely.

There was a silence in which Steve could actually feel the pulse in his own neck. He was stood at Bucky’s head, hand at Bucky’s shoulder. Not touching, however much he wanted to.

Every so often there was a metallic scrape and Tony shifted slightly on his stool. Steve knew what was coming. Tony was pathologically unable to stand a silence.

“You know, this is good work. If I wasn’t all consumed by Shakespearean rage, it’d be good to talk shop with HRH’s engineering department.”

“You know he wouldn’t turn you away.”

Tony glanced up at him. “I don’t know anything about him.”

Steve shifted his feet. “He’s a good man.”

Tony held his gaze for a strained couple of seconds. “You’d know all about that.”

“What’s that suppo-“

“Stevie?”

“Yes,” Steve snapped, harder than he intended. He leant down. Bucky was still glazed over, but he had a hell of a way of stopping Steve in his tracks. He spoke too low for Tony to hear. “Reign it in, darlin. Aint got it in me to take the hits about now, you know?”

Steve fought to get his breathing under control. He allowed himself a pat at Bucky’s shoulder. “Alright.”

He caught Tony’s eye as he straightened up. Tony looked away. Went back to his work. “So what’s happening in old timey Brooklyn?”

“Tony.”

“What? I like to chitchat while I work. And DUM-E’s about twenty floors down.” Tony slid his stool back and leaned down presumably to get a better angle. “So, how’ve you been?”

“Fine.”

Tony didn’t look up. “You’ve been back, what, six months now?”

“Seven.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Seven.” Steve could practically hear Tony building up to something. “You seen anyone else?”

Steve counted slowly to ten. “Anyone else?”

“You know,” there was something raw in Tony’s eyes, which Steve could see even around the angle of Tony’s head, “High school reunions? Scandalous encounters?”

“No.”

“No?” Tony snapped up, but he was interrupted by the shearing sound of metal as one of the plates of Bucky’s arm soared in an arc and clattered to the floor behind him.

The sound seemed to catch Bucky’s attention, and all three of them turned to watch the sliver of metal slide to a halt.

“Huh,” Tony said. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

Bucky let out a laugh. “A’ways appens. ‘S latched in, not soldered.”

Tony got up to retrieved it. “Well, thank you for the head’s up there, Robocop.”

“Tony,” Steve started, but he didn’t know how to explain that Bucky could be talking about the arm T’Challa’s people made for him, or the Hydra arm, or any incarnation he’d had for the last fifty years.

Tony didn’t seem to notice that he’d trailed off. He frowned, leaned down.

“Got it.” Tony was pulling a face. “Crossed wires. Literally. Looks like Wakanda’s finest underestimated the staying power of good old Soviet tin can engineering. Vostok got us into space.” Tony met his eyes, and Steve suddenly wondered how much Tony had had to drink before this. “I ever tell you about that? That on your list?”

“Tony-“

“What?” Tony spat back. “What’ve you got to say, Spangles?”

Steve didn’t answer. There was no good answer, not when Tony was in this mood. Better to ride it out.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Thought so.” He ran a hand over his face. Stood up. “I gotta grab something.”

Steve watched him go.

“Hey, Stevie?” Bucky asked, in an exaggerated stage whisper. “Howard sore at me about somethin?”

Steve wondered whether it was worth reminding him again who Tony was. Probably not.

He smiled tightly, squeezed his shoulder again. “Not you, Buck.”

But Bucky was barely listening. “Still, oughta be me that’s sore. All on my lonesome.”

Tony shoved the door open and even from across the room Steve could smell the bourbon that he must have in his pocket.

For a second, Steve couldn’t decide whether irritation or sympathy won out.

Bucky turned to watch Tony.

“Howard’s got Suzanne for an sweetheart.” Bucky was grinning. “Knocked it outta the park, pal. She’s a real lady.” He turned, fixed on Steve and his expression went cold. “Stevie’s all dizzy over Pegs. Savin that dance. What I got? Bupkis.”

Steve felt the swell of anger. Buck couldn’t just let it go.

Steve remembered having a hushed fight in the woods while they were supposed to be refilling their canteens. It was stupid, with the Howlies so close, and they never really got the opportunity again.

He remembered arguing that he was doing it to keep them safe. That it was a ruse.

It meant nothing.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

But Bucky was giving him a side eyed look. The same look that he’d given him by the icy river.

The one that said that Bucky knew.

Knew just how much he loved Peggy. Knew that made it different.

But Steve’d never cheated. Never. Didn’t matter what Bucky thought way back when.

He’d never.  

He would never.

 “Whaddaya think? You can stroll out with Pegs on your right, me on your left. Go out, cut a rug.”

Bucky was really into the swing of it now. He never shouted, but he’d never left Steve in any doubt that he was in the doghouse.

Steve leaned down again. “Not here.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, don’t let me stop you from slugging it out.” Tony had been giving every impression that he wasn’t listening to a word they said. “You know I love some good ol’ time fisticuffs between war buddies.”

Bucky’s face cleared as if he’d just remembered they weren’t alone. He gave a strained smile. “Ah, no, we were just razzin, Howard.”

“Stop!” Tony stood up, scraping his stool across the floor. His chest was heaving, but when he continued it was much calmer. “Stop calling me that.”

He looked between them for a desperate second. He dropped his tool with a clatter. “Ok, I’m done. I need some air.”

He kicked the stool, sharply, as if he couldn’t quite decide whether it was worth it to hurt himself. Then he stalked out.

The door swung vacantly behind him.

Bucky turned back to Steve with an eyebrow raised. “S’up with Howard?”

Steve felt his fist tense. “It’s not Howard, Buck. It’s not Howard.”

But Bucky was just frowning like none of that made a lick of sense. Steve felt like a massive piece of shit. He breathed.

“Listen,” he crouched down, “nothin ever happened between me and Peggy.”

Bucky was still frowning, eyes flicking back and forth as if they were tracking the memory. And Christ this wasn’t the right time.

Bucky set his jaw. “It didn’t have to.”

“It wasn’t-“

“You woulda married her though.”

Steve swallowed tightly. It would have been a lie to say he hadn’t thought about it. What it could’ve been. White picket fence and all. A few kids running around, fearless and wild, with Peggy’s eyes.

His only chance for that.

But he’d never been able to square it, not really. Because there’d never been any kind of future without Bucky in it.

Steve ran his thumb over the skin of Bucky’s jaw. “It woulda been lavender.”

“You’da done it though.”

Steve sat back. He knew he was scowling, could feel the lines it pulled across his face, remembering all the days he’d sat waiting on Bucky to come home, smelling of perfume and smoke from the bar. “It wasn’t just me.”

“I did that for you!”

Bucky tried to sit up, and let out a moan that was just edging on pained, as the two of them both realised his left arm wasn’t quite attached. Held by wires, not by metal.

Steve shushed him, and pushed him back down onto the table, patting at his chest until he’d settled back down.

On impulse, he dropped a kiss onto his shoulder. Through fabric, but it’d have to do for the moment.

“I did it for you,” Bucky said in a hushed whisper. When Steve looked up he saw that Bucky’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling. “I did it for us. Because you wouldn’t. ‘Didn’t sit right,’” He said in a mocking voice and met Steve’s eyes, without moving. “But I never laid a finger on any of them dames, and it was me that had to keep lettin them down. It was me that had to keep seeing the look on their faces. Me that had to get the reputation. Because you wouldn’t.”

Steve took in a breath. “Buck-“

“That’s how I knew.” Bucky was back looking at the ceiling again. “You wouldn’t ever’ve led girl on. That’s how I knew.”

Steve took a couple of breaths against the tightness in his chest. He let his hand drop down to find Bucky’s. “I did. I did love her.”

Bucky hummed like he knew. Like he knew, and it hurt him.

Steve squeezed his hand. “And I could have married her. I might’ve done. But I had you.”

Bucky’s face crumpled ever so slightly, like he was pushing back tears. “I had you first.”

“Buck…”

Steve couldn’t finish, he just dropped his head into Bucky’s shoulder. He felt Bucky’s chin press into his hair. They stayed like that for a couple of minutes, breathing in the salt, sweat, warmth.

“Alright, pal.” Bucky finally shifted beneath him. “Getting a bit sore now.”

Steve sat up, looked over towards his arm. “You think the painkillers are wearing off?”

Bucky tightened his jaw. “Maybe.”

Steve hesitated for a second. After all, they were pretty hard to knock out. “Do you want some more?”

Bucky swallowed tightly again. Bit the inside of his jaw. “Yeah. Just… just a little…”

“Alright.”

He was very, very careful to give draw out the smallest dose physically possible. Right at the end of the scale.

By the time he returned, Bucky was holding himself taut again, right hand stretched across his chest to knead at the muscles there.

“Alright darlin,” Steve emptied the syringe into the IV line, “just give that a minute, ok?”

“Mmmm,” Bucky hummed, as his breathing went slow again.

Steve couldn’t help it any longer. He dropped a kiss onto the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “Tony’ll be back soon. We’ll get you fixed up, and we’ll go home.”

Bucky opened woozy eyes and smiled a fraction.

Then he kissed Steve back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you may have noticed that chapters changed to 2/3, I guess Steve and Bucky needed to talk more than I thought they did!
> 
> PS. Tony Stark is hard to write! 
> 
> Blame any OOC on the drunkenness of the author.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

 

Steve waited until Bucky’s breathing evened out again, before he went to seek out Tony.

“Friday?”

“Captain.”

Steve couldn’t be sure, but he was pretty sure there was a tone in there somewhere. Goddamn Tony and his sarcastic AIs.

“Where’s Tony?”

Friday reeled off a numbered code, which had Steve stopping in his tracks right outside the lab’s door.

“That’s the basement workshop, Captain.”

“Thanks,” he said with as much irony as he could muster.

It wasn’t much. It’d been a long day.

He stepped into the elevator, thought of Bucky, sleeping, hurting, with God knew how many storeys between them. “Can you…” He gestured. “If he…”

“Of course, Captain.”

He thought maybe the tone had softened. Huh.

“Thank you,” he said, as the door slid shut. “And it’s Steve.”

***

Steve was assaulted by a wall of sound as soon as he exited the lift. Tony was playing obnoxiously loud rock music, while he fiddled with some metal device which was flashing intermittently.

And drinking.

Like a fish. If the bottles stood empty on the side were anything to go by.

“Friday,” Steve still looked at the ceiling, even though he knew it wasn’t necessary, “turn that off.”

The music went silent, as if the computer agreed that someone oughta stop her creator’s looming implosion.

Tony didn’t look at him. Took a defiant swig from the bottle that had evidently replaced the bourbon in his pocket.

Steve found he didn’t have anything to say. He felt like he’d watched this show a thousand times. A thousand ways of watching this self-destruction.

And he didn’t have anything left to say.  

Thankfully, Tony never seemed to have that problem.

“Who was Suzanne?”

Steve just watched him for a second, watched as the device in his hand started flashing ever faster.

“She was one of Peggy’s girls. French. She passed messages to the Resistance.”

He trailed off as he wondered how he’d ever bought that. What kind of go-between could slip in and out of occupied territory? Across the frontline even?

But he’d been young. More naïve than he could even imagine now.

And it had never even entered his head.

He hadn’t met Natasha yet.

Tony cottoned on a lot quicker than him. “A spy?” He still didn’t look across. “Bet mom seemed pretty boring after that.”

Steve swallowed tightly. “I think we could all have used a bit of boring after all that.”

Tony hummed. “What happened to her?”

“MIA.” Tony finally looked at him. Sharp, like he could skewer him through. “And I… I kinda missed the end after that…”

“No one looked for her?”

Steve took a breath. “It was wartime, Tony. People went missin every day.”

Tony held his gaze. Still sharp. Still accusing.

And Steve knew that look. It was the same look he’d given Philips, way back. When he still thought there was a kind of righteous war. That there were laws and rules that were ironclad and sacred. 

When he’d never even heard the term ‘acceptable loss’.

When he still thought he could save everyone.

He hated how jaded he’d become. Hated that if it’d been now-him back then, he might’ve made a different call.

But there was a fire burning up his chest, rising to his defence.

It was what you _had_ to do.

You either squared it or you went nuts.

And Christ knew he’d seen enough of that to know that that was a dark road. One there wasn’t any way out of.

So you squared it.

You walked it off. And you kept on fighting.

He briefly, shockingly, understood how much Bucky had had to cut out of himself to square all of _that_.

“Did he love her?” Tony asked quietly, still looking at him.

Steve shook his head. Thought about it. “I don’t think they got that far. I think he could have.”

Tony turned back to the device, nodding slowly.

Steve could still remember finding Howard, smoking, leaning on the Buick staff car that he’d firmly set his eye on. He’d grinned, crushed the stub underneath his heel. ‘I’ll only ever get stood up by a broad twice’. His laugh had fallen too quick. Had barely got close to humour.

Jaw too tight. Nerves too raw.

And he’d walked away, hands shoved in his pockets, sleeves rolled up. Back to work.

There was a muscle twitching in Tony’s jaw.

He closed his eyes, dropped the device on the table, with a clatter. Then, in a sudden burst of movement, backhanded it across the room to scrape sadly to a halt by the wall.

Steve instinctively took his hands out of his pockets, ready to get his arms up, but Tony just stood. Breathing.

“Let’s get this done.”

He scooped the bottle up on his way, making to pass Steve, and Steve automatically reached out and caught it. Stopped Tony dead.

They caught each other’s eye.

And Steve surprised himself, cos it wasn’t Bucky that was forefront of his mind, or Tony’s ability to carry out the task. It was Tony’s red rimmed eyes and creased clothes.

It was ‘this isn’t the way, pal. Don’t do this again.’

Some of that must have shown in his face because after a silent battle, Tony blinked first, relinquished his grip and headed for the door.

It was odd, Steve thought as he replaced the bottle, but despite all the ways they were similar, it was in that memory of Howard that Steve’d always found the closest resemblance to Tony.

***

Bucky was still asleep when they returned to the lab. The side of his lip was downturned, but that was the only sign he was giving of discomfort.

Tony retook his seat, next to Bucky. “You know, those weren’t all from today.”

Steve stopped by the door. “You don’t have to answer to me.”

“I know. And yet I always want to.” Tony shot him a grimace, leant down to continue his work.

Steve opened his mouth then realised he didn’t want to say whatever he’d been planning on. “Look, I don’t know what Howard said about me-“

“Oh, don’t worry, he only campaigned for your promotion to sainthood.”

Steve sighed. “I was dead, Tony. People remember things-“

“You know, I already did the whole ‘disappointed dad’ thing. Don’t need a rehash.”

“It wasn’t true.”

“Yeah, well there were a few thousand protesters camped on Capitol Hill who disagree with you.”

Steve couldn’t help the snort. Tony still cared what people thought of them? “Is it that what this is about? You pissed you lost your edge playin the media?”

Tony sprang to his feet, rattling the stool behind him. “I lost everything!”

Steve looked around them, pointedly. “Oh, yeah? My heart bleeds for ya.”

“Fuck you! I was just tryin to do what was right! For once!” Tony was breathing like his lungs might give out. “I was tryin to fix everything! Just once. To… to make up for everything else. And you, you spring a murderer outta jail and everyone sides with you!” He laughed, harshly. “Everyone. Our friends. The whole goddamn world still falls at your feet.” Tony spread his arms wide. “The prodigal son returns, and he gets to play house with the man who killed my mom.”

The silence hung in the air, as Tony dropped his arms.  

Steve didn’t know what to say.  

“So yeah,” Tony retreated back to his seat, “I lost everything. Everything that mattered.”  

Steve took a few steps forward. “Tony…”

Tony held his hand up, ran the other across his face. Laughed again. Humourlessly.  “You were right about the drink too. How bout that? Come on, lets get this done before your buddy starts reminiscing again.”

Bucky was still asleep, though he half turned on his good side. There was a definite frown across his face now. Perpetually scarred into the lines on his face.

And Steve suddenly felt it again, the churning emptiness that had become so familiar those first weeks after the plane crash. The swirling fog disconnecting him from reality, because how could _this_ be reality?

How could Bucky Barnes, who’d played stickball in the alley behind the back of the theatre, with pants that were too short for him and a scuff of dirt on his cheek, how could he be here? In this impossible fluorescent building, with Tony Stark, who’d fought aliens and with him and who’d fallen through a wormhole into outer space?

How could any of this be real?

“It wasn’t him, Tony,” he said, softly, because how _could_ it have been?

“I know. You’ve said.” Tony gestured to himself with some kind of metal tool. “And this is me, letting it go. So..?”

Steve found himself nodding tightly. He forced himself back into the present. Into the room and into himself.

“Bucky? Pal? Tony’s gonna start on your arm again.”

No response.

Steve reached out gingerly, not particularly wanting to startle Bucky awake, and certainly not with an audience, but when he didn’t react Steve just lightly rolled him onto his back.

Tony hummed a thank you and got into position.

Steve watched him.

Tony Stark. Howard’s son.

His friend.

“I’m not sorry I didn’t sign the accords.” Steve saw Tony stiffen, even though he didn’t look up from his work. “But I am sorry that I didn’t talk to you before Leipzig. And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about Howard. That’s on me.”

Tony was absolutely still for one long heartbeat.

Then he gave a jerky nod, swallowed tightly, and the room was once again filled with the smell of burning metal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So again sorry for the delay, and the fact that the projected chapter count has once again gone up. Characters once again got away from me, and this section no longer fit nicely with the next bit.
> 
> Everyone apparently has much more to talk about that I originally planned ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. Chapter 4

 

They didn’t speak any more while Tony was working.

Tony was engrossed in his task, finding some rhythm that had been eluding him before. The tension had pooled out of his shoulders a little as he managed to lose himself for a while.

The quiet and the warmth of the room was having a soporific effect on Steve. With nothing to occupy him now Bucky was out like a light, he let himself drift a little.

He’d been up half the night with Bucky, and the constant stress of trying to skirt around Tony’s hard edges, worry about Bucky, and trying to keep his façade up had been exhausting.

He thought of folding into Bucky that evening, of shaking off the day. Letting his broken pieces hang together a bit more loosely.

Bucky was the only one he could do that with. Bucky saw his battered heart, because it was his, always his, and his own heart had battered pieces too.

Steve didn’t know if it had always been that way. It had been too long, and he’d been too young back then for so much self-awareness.

What he did know, watching Bucky’s drawn brow in his sleep, was that this was what love was.

It was knowing that someone could see all of the fragile scarred doors in your soul, and that they understood them.

They’d shore them up with you.

Tony cleared his throat, looked at Steve expectantly.

Steve raised his eyebrow. “You done?”

Tony nodded. “All fixed up.”

His voice was gruff and unemotional, which was a step up from open hurt, granted, but it still left a little hollow in Steve’s gut.

“I gotta,” Tony swallowed, tightly, “need you to help me get the plate back on.”

Steve went over instantly. Save for the single plate Tony had picked up, Bucky’s arm looked good as new.

“Where do you need me?”

Tony didn’t look at him.

“Hold his elbow like this.”

He lifted it up and across Bucky’s chest slightly. Steve did as he was told.

“Wanna make sure I get the right angle.” Tony leaned down and slotted the plate into place, lifting and jiggling it a couple of times. He fished behind him and grabbed a welding torch. “I’m gonna fix it in. I’m guessin Wakanda’s finest were thinking of ease of access, but I don’t like armour plating that flies across the room when you give it a tap.”

Tony glanced up and met his eye for what felt like a microsecond, then looked away, firing up the torch.

Steve realised abruptly that it was an overture. The closest Tony could get to an apology, or the acceptance of one.

“Thank you,” Steve said.

Tony grunted and Steve smiled, just a little bit.

“There. Done.” Tony took Bucky’s arm from Steve, and gave it a couple of flexes. “Tell him if anything catches or feels weird-“

 

Bucky suddenly lurched upwards, jerking his left arm out to catch Tony solidly in the chest, flinging him backwards.

Steve only had a second of warning, Bucky’s other hand connecting hard with his ribs, before Bucky was off the table and across the room. He threw himself into the cabinets hard enough that they buckled behind him. His eyes so wide that Steve could see the entire ring of white.

He was holding absolutely still. From Steve’s vantage point, he didn’t even appear to be breathing.

He glanced over to see that Tony was on his feet. Still breathing. Shaken but not hurt.

Steve turned back to Bucky.

“Buck… You hear me?

Nothing.

“I’m comin over there, alrigh?”

He took a couple of cautious steps and when Bucky didn’t react, he crossed to crouch at his side.

“Bucky-buck, you with me, pal?”

Steve was alert to every single twitch of Bucky’s muscles, every single bead of sweat. He slowly dropped a hand onto the back of Bucky’s neck. “Can you look at me? Look at me, Buck.”

Bucky jolted suddenly, and he was back in the room, but there was absolutely no recognition in his face.

His eyes were dragging desperately around the room. His breathing hitched and forced.

And then he started talking. Babbling. Even if Steve knew the language, he doubted he’d follow it.

Steve caught ‘nyet’ and nothing else.

He forced out a laugh. “Buck, you know I don’t speak Russian, pal.”

Bucky only paused to drag in frantic breaths.

“Translation, Friday.”

Steve glanced back. “No.”

Tony had backed away from the table, staring at the scene in front of him.

Steve could see the glow of a little repulsor sitting in the palm of his outstretched hand.

But Tony was watching him.

Steve shrugged, trying for light-hearted and missing by a thousand miles. “I’d rather not know.”

Bucky was hyperventilating now. Sounding like every breath hurt. He lifted up his hand and started tugging at his hair.

“Don’t do that, Buck.”

Bucky’s hand suddenly tightened, dragged a clump free. Catching in the plates of his hand.

“No,” Steve grabbed his wrist, “don’t hurt yourself, darlin.”

Bucky yanked his hand back, brought his other up to claw at his skin.

“No.”

Bucky was fighting him now, but in his panic, he wasn’t very effective. Steve wrestled him until he could flip them over. Steve underneath him, restraining his arms, in a sick parody of the fight on the helicarrier.

He could see that Bucky had managed to split the skin on his cheek, three sharp claw marks down his flesh, welling a little with blood. He could feel Bucky straining, trying to free his hands. He was making a low moaning noises, trying to grab onto his hair again.

“Don’t do that, darlin, don’t do that.”

He pressed a kiss onto the back of Bucky’s head.

“It’s alright.”

Bucky’s breaths were laboured, skin sweat damp. His hands, both, were curled into fists by his thighs. Like so many nights before.

“It’s alright, darlin. It’s just me. Just me, sweetheart.”

Bucky went limp.

Steve’d seen this enough to know that he was calming down. He wasn’t out of it, not by a long shot, but he wouldn’t fight anymore.

Steve released his wrists and started rubbing gently over his biceps. “There ya go.”

Bucky lolled back, his head against Steve’s shoulder. He looked like he was a thousand miles away, staring into an abyss.

Sam had suggested maybe it was seizures, this blankness that came after an attack. Steve didn’t know, but this was exactly the reason they hadn’t seen a doctor.

Steve’d googled MRI machines.

No way in Hell was Bucky getting within ten feet of one.

He let go of Bucky’s left arm and brought a hand up to his sticky forehead. “Come back.” He kissed the side of Bucky’s temple. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Bucky started twisting, and Steve lifted his arms to give him space.

He twisted himself over entirely, so that he could bury his face in Steve’s throat, legs curled up to make himself small.

Steve stroked down his hair. Kissed into his temple again, rested his chin in his hair. “There ya go, sweetheart. You’re alright.”

Steve glanced up and abruptly remembered their audience.

Tony was staring at them, eyes wide, and an ice-cold weight slithered into Steve’s stomach. Tony knew.

He _knew_.

Tony balked when he realised Steve’s eyes were on him, stumbling back a couple of steps, before abruptly leaving the room.

Bucky shuffled against him and Steve put everything else out of his mind.

His mouth was dry, but he managed to stutter out an “it’s alright, darlin. Just me.”

Tony was a problem for later.

Right now, there was only Bucky. Whatever came after, Bucky was all that was important now.

Forever.

***

When Bucky sat up, his eyes were slightly puffy. He dragged his hand across his nose and left a little wet smear across the metal. Steve pretended not to notice.

“Well, that was embarrassing.”

Bucky’s voice was gruff with crying, but he was trying to reassure Steve, and that meant he was back.

Steve kissed him, salt tears and all.

Bucky gave a sad smile. “You’re a sap.” He grimaced. “Bet Stark loved that.”

“He didn’t see.” Steve regretted the lie instantly, but he figured it wasn’t too much of a sin when he saw Bucky’s relief. If he was found out later, so be it. He wanted to take the fear of Bucky’s face right now. “He left. Thought maybe he was freakin you out. He left straight away.”

Bucky nodded, glanced back at the table. “I gotta get back up there?”

“No. You’re done.” Steve squeezed his hands, both of them. “You’re done.”

He could practically feel the relief sag out of Bucky.

Steve leant in and kissed him again, peppered little kitten licks across his lips. “Get your things together, darlin. I gotta go let Tony know you’re alright. But then I want to go home.”

Bucky lifted Steve’s hand to his lips with warm metal fingers. “Let’s go home.”

***

Surprisingly, Steve didn’t find Tony sequestered in the basement workshop, instead he was in the penthouse bar, looking out over the city, with a glass of something that looked strong and neat clasped in his hand. 

As soon as he heard the elevator, he grabbed a glass and an expensive looking bottle off the side and looked questioningly at Steve.

“Um,” Steve shrugged, “it doesn’t do anything…”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You know you really are a philistine, Rogers. You don’t drink single malt this good just to get drunk.”

Steve smiled and held his hand out. “Second time I’ve been called that today.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, as he was pouring out the whiskey, “well, Barnes clearly has good taste.”

Steve frowned as he took the glass. “How did-“

“Please!” Tony took another slug of his own drink. “Barnes is the only person you talk to these days.”

“About that, Tony-“

“Ah, ah! Drink up, Cap. We are not having this,” he gestured between them, “heart to heart until we’ve both had at least half this bottle of Macallan.”

Steve smiled again. The whiskey burned at his throat pleasantly. “I thought it was too good to knock back.”

“It’ll be the most expensive hangover you’ve ever had.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Most of his formative experiences had been with bootleg gin courtesy of one of Bucky’s ‘friends’.

Tony had finished his glass and refilled it before he spoke again.

 “I wanna say that I get it.”

Steve frowned. “Get it?”

“It doesn’t change anythin.” Tony downed another glass. “But I want you to know. I get it. If it’d been Rhodey.” He paused, significantly. “If it’d been _Pepper_. I get it.”

“Oh,” Steve said, faintly.

“It doesn’t change anything,” Tony said again.

“Alright.”

“Is that the reason you didn’t call me before Leipzig?”

Steve frowned. “Whaddaya mean?”

Tony took a deep breath. “You needed help, with Zemo… Did you think that… cos of dad, that I’d’ve sold you out? Squealed?” He gave a faint smile. “Is that what they used to call it? Or was it…”

Steve thought about it. Really, really thought about it, because Tony deserved that. “No.”

“No?”

“I didn’t want to put you in a position. I didn’t want to make you choose between the accords… the word you’d given, and me.” Steve shoved his hands in his pockets. Looked at the floor. “But then I kinda did anyway.”

Tony nodded. “It doesn’t change anything,” he said it again, though he was sounding less and less confident in it.

They drank in silence for a few moments, Tony automatically filling up Steve’s glass when he emptied it.

“You never said anything.” Tony was watching the city again.

Steve knew he was talking about what he’d seen with Bucky, and it was true.

To the world, he was the All American Hero, and there was no room in that for the kind of bars he and Bucky had frequented. No room for painted lips and restroom floors.

For the all sweet things he and Bucky had shared in warm sheets in the dead of night.

He tapped at his glass. “It never came up.”

Tony made a sound that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be a scoff or a sentence. He gestured between them, as if he couldn’t quite find the words. “Friends… tell each other things.” He laughed harshly. “Did I misread this whole…”

He broke off with another laugh. Turned back to the window.

And Steve felt guilty.

“It wasn’t just you. I never… No one knows. No one.”

Tony looked back. “You know its…”

“Of course. I… It’s the 21st century, I’ve… seen what it has to offer.” He could feel his cheeks turning pink, and he couldn’t stop his mouth running away from him to fill the silence. “I mean, the bars weren’t… what I remembered.”

Tony turned his full body round to face him, a look on his face that was a little like it was Christmas morning. “I’m sorry, are you telling me that Captain America was a regular in 1930s gay bars?”

“It was New York, they weren’t exactly hard to find.”

Tony’s face split into one of the widest grins Steve had ever seen. “Please, can you come out? We can call Fox News.” He sucked in a huge breath and his face lit up. “We can call Alex Jones!”

Steve snorted. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

“Neither is the media.”

Steve smiled at that, at the thought of Pepper’s face when she found out exactly what Tony was planning.

He tapped at his empty glass, as his thoughts inevitably led back to Bucky. “I should get goin.”

Tony nodded mutely.

“What you…” he started, as he took Steve’s glass, “what you said in that letter-“

“I meant every word.”

Tony laughed. “Yeah, yeah, alright, George Washington, listen, what I was going to say… likewise, you know?”

“Thank you, Tony. For all of this.”

Tony visibly grimaced. “Well, we’ve officially reached my sentiment quota for the day.” He was already moving towards the door. He span round as he reached the elevator, pointing finger guns in Steve’s general direction. “Get goin, Spangles. And if an incriminating video has not been leaked by the end of the week, I will be very, very disappointed.”

Steve smiled. “Should I take inspiration from you for that?”

“I don’t think either Pep or Red Scare would thank you for that.”

Tony winked as the doors slid closed on him.

***

By the time they got back to the apartment, in a car Steve was certain they were reducing the value of just by touching the seats, Steve was about ready to drop.

Bucky too, by the looks of him. He’d fallen asleep in the backseat, still processing the drugs and the stress out of his system.

Steve was almost glad of the Manhattan traffic, as it meant he could leave Bucky to rest for a while.

As soon as they were home, Bucky flopped on the couch like he didn’t intend to move for the next eight hours.

Steve dithered around for a few minutes, changing out of his clothes and contemplating the long list of chores that had been forgotten over the last few days. Wondering what he could get done without disturbing Bucky.

A sudden wave of exhaustion passed over him at the thought of it all, and he all he wanted was to press into Bucky’s skin and let him make it better.

That was accompanied by a treacherous feeling of guilt. That he oughta be keeping it together, that Bucky was the one who needed…

But no, that wasn’t fair. Not to either of them.

They were in it together and always had been.

Steve padded over to the sofa and gently crawled his way over Bucky, until he was draped over the top of him like a blanket.

Bucky’s arms instantly came up around him, big hands rubbing up his back. “Heya, Stevie.”

Steve grunted, and pressed his nose into Bucky’s neck, letting himself melt a little.

“Awww!” Bucky huffed a laugh. “You feelin all soft, darlin?”

Steve nodded ever so slightly. “Was so frightened this mornin, Buck.”

“I know, darlin. I’m sorry I scared you.” Bucky’s hands were continuing their big sweeping arcs, and Steve felt himself loosening up like a sleepy cat. “I won’t let it happen again. I swear it. I’m not always… I don’t always make good decisions, but I’m gonna try, ok?”

Steve nodded again. Felt the deep rise fall of Bucky’s chest.

“You get eveythin sorted with Stark?”

“Mmmm.” Steve curled himself deeper into Bucky’s warmth, would get inside his skin with him if he could. “Not _sorted_ , you know? But…”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, “I know.”

Bucky let the silence hang there for a second, before he started again. “I was thinkin, maybe we could check out that place you were talkin about?”

“Sam’s coffee place?”

“Yeah. Maybe…” Bucky huffed a little, “maybe not tomorrow, but, in a coupla days, maybe?”

“Yeah,” Steve smiled, “that’d be nice. Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah, darlin?”

“Put some music on?”  

He didn’t have to look to know Bucky was smiling.

“Sure thing, Stevie.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is! I feel like this got away from me ever so slightly (family health stuff distracted me quite a lot - is it just me or is there always something?) 
> 
> Anyway, I hope it was worth the wait. If everyone hates it, I may go back and rewrite XD 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


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